


Where's His Inhaler?

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Asthma, Gen, Mother Hen Freddie, asthmatic!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: He rushed over to John, who was on the ground on all fours, quiet as a mouse. He held out the inhaler to John, but he didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes were bloodshot, face pale and lips blue.





	Where's His Inhaler?

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: How about John having asthma, and struggling with a severe sudden attack after a strenuous gig?

This was by far the best gig in their tour.

The stage was gigantic, the lights bright and hot, the speakers so loud they rattled John’s bones. 

With the adrenaline pumping to the beat of Roger’s drum, he couldn’t help but to get really into the music. He was running around the stage with Freddie, dancing his heart out on the drum risers, absolutely shredding his bass, bending over backwards and nearly doing splits. He was in his zone, having the time of his life. 

By the time he got off stage, handing off his guitar to a roadie, he was drenched in sweat, panting, hair clinging to his face. John could not wait to put on a fresh set of clothes, throw back a beer and crawl into bed. 

He rounded the corner to his dressing room, wiping the sweat from his forehead, daydreaming about the ice cold lager he’d drink to cool off. Tonight would be a Heineken night, since they were in Germany after all. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a wide eyed Freddie. His hand was on John’s shoulder, head cocked.

“Deacy, you’re breathing like you ran a marathon. You alright?” he asked, his eyes going to the bassist’s rapidly falling and rising chest. 

John blinked in surprise, head shaking, droplets of sweat being flung from his hair. “I’m fine! Just went a little too hard on stage, I reckon,” he said immediately, not actually processing Freddie’s question. The reply was a gut reaction but only once his brain mulled through the words did John begin to worry. 

It didn’t take him long to catch his breath on good days. He was in pretty good shape if you asked him. But right now, instead of slowing down, his panting was only getting faster and more strained. 

It made his knees feel wobbly. But what made him more nervous was people worrying over him. So he forced a smile and repeated, “I’m fine,” before scurrying off to his room.

Panic set in once the door was closed. His chest was tight. Throat dry. Lungs burning. Shaky hands started to rummage through his duffle bag. 

He was sure he packed it. Why would he forget his inhaler? He always had one or two in his concert bag. Where in the hell was it?

All the contents were dumped onto the floor, his breath turning into thick, strangled wheezes. 

_Inhaler. Inhaler. Where was his inhaler?_

His whole body was trembling, heart fluttering uncomfortably, air only coming into his lungs with phlegmy chokes.  Amongst his clothes and extra strings, he couldn’t find the damn inhaler. John let out a panicked wheeze as his vision began to blur and darken. 

“Yoohoo, John, dear. You left your inhaler in my dressin- Christ!” Freddie said as he entered the room, his smile dissolving into a gasp. 

He rushed over to John, who was on the ground on all fours, quiet as a mouse. He held out the inhaler to John, but he didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes were bloodshot, face pale and lips blue. 

Freddie ran back to the door way, screeching out, “ **Somebody call 999! Somebody call 999,** _please_ **!!** ”

♚

Roger sat by John’s bed side, stroking John’s hair, holding his quivering hand as he received a nebulizer treatment. The medicine gave him the shakes and anxiety, so he needed someone with him at all times or else he’d freak out. He already hated hospitals to begin with. 

Brian was sitting on the foot of the bed, rubbing John’s knee and thigh comfortingly, a small furrow in his brow. 

Freddie paced the room, blaming himself for everything. He shouldn’t have left John alone. He knew something was wrong and he knew John downplayed his asthma. He should have been there for John. He should h-

“Fred,” John croaked, his eyes half lidded from exhaustion. 

Freddie snapped to look at John, failing to keep the tears from spilling.

“Am okay,” he said, followed by a coughing fit. Roger hushed him, telling him to keep breathing in the medicine. 

The small act of solace from the youngest wasn’t enough to make him feel better. Freddie’s frown just deepened, attempting to go back to his pacing and beating himself up.

John patted his thigh loudly, as if beckoning Freddie to come join the rest of them on his tiny bed. It was all he could do the make Freddie stop. It wasn’t his fault. John was a grown man. If he was in trouble, he should have said something, which he didn’t. Freddie shouldn’t blame himself. 

The singer’s face softened, figuring there would be better opportunities to sulk. Right now his  ~~little one~~ friend needed him.

Shifting around, John was able to make room for Freddie to curl up next to him, another hand patting his curly hair smooth.

“Are you feeling better, Deacy?” Freddie asked barely above a whisper, admiring how John’s face was now pink instead of that ghastly cyan it was just an hour before. 

John nodded, a small smile on his face as he continued to breathe in the medicine. 

“Good,” they all murmured, continuing their watch of  _their_ bassist through the night as John slept a well deserved sleep. 

Come morning once he was released, he would most certainly be getting that beer he craved from the night before. And everyone would always carry an inhaler with them so this never happened again.  **Never. Again.**  According to a bug eyed Freddie, at least.


End file.
